Voices
by irosnea55
Summary: Tom was very lucky to be released from the false charge but he had this whole other problem..
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings apply - bad language.**

**The story: Tom struggles with a mental illness that developed after he was locked up in prison from a false charge. Is a continuation from Draw the line season 4. I'll just put the first chapter here and see what you guys think. 90% of the whole story was written on my phone on my travel journeys! **

It was no easy day at work for Tom Hanson. He had to write up a report but couldn't organise it properly. He basically had to copy from Judy and Harry's notes, re-word it and match it together as witnesses. They were both working on a drug case and so far, from what he could grasp, there was a drug problem at a high school. Ketamine was supplied at a senior party and it resulted to a death of a sixteen year old girl.

It didn't used to be this difficult. He could throw it all in like a pro in two hours top - not four.

He just had a problem...

A big problem.

_Pig cop can't write. _

_Ha, stupid ass motherfucker. _

_You belong back in jail with us. _

_We own you bitch._

It was the voices in his head goading and distracting him.

He tried everything to get rid of them; listening to music, remembering the good times, what things he needed to do by the end of the week...things he was supposed to do now...

But nothing worked. He had to wait until they left him alone, in small amounts of time during the day.

Before long, the wait become a little too late for Captain Fuller. He stormed over at his desk and demanded to give him the report.

In that instant, the voices drained out.

It usually did when Fuller was in the same room. Perhaps because his ticking time bomb demeanour scared them off. Fuller was a good captain, he just got angry easily. And boy, could he shout.

"Well?" Fuller said, impatiently, after he noticed Tom had nothing to hand over.

"Your report Hanson, how's it going?" Fuller repeated, his voice on edge.

He looked down at his handwriting. Shit one paragraph.

No answer still, Fuller peered over

"That's it? That's all you got?!"

"Sorry sir... I didn't get much sleep." It wasn't exactly a lie. He guessed he got about four hours per night in the last two months

Fuller, derailed of all empathy said, "I didn't get much either but that didn't stop me from completing a days work this morning!"

He silenced. What was there to say? He was sick of apologising for being such a lousy human being.

"I want at least a whole page done In an hour that clear?"

It was lunch time in an hour. Just maybe he could miss lunch to finish it..just in case.

"Ooh!" Doug dramatised as soon as Fuller disappeared back into his office

Tom just shot him a glare before he summoned his energy on cracking the report.

An hour passed. It was just one page but at least he had something to show for it.

During the time he was fresh out of prison, he felt small - like he was an ant in a big, frightening place.

He was so used to watching over his shoulder in case inmates were on the prowl, that he still did it. He was so used to them snatching his food before he could even lick it, that he stiil shovelled it down. It was even hard to sleep because would be succumbed into nightmares.

He still found it just as difficult. Most days at work, he pleaded with himself to act normal and at least try and think clearly. Usually it worked but later on that week, he accidentally let it slip. He was working quietly at his desk when the voices emerged. It was along day and he was tired so he told the voices to shut up - aloud.

The only person who heard him was Doug but even that was embarrassing.

His best friend gave him a weird look. "I didn't say anything..."

"Oh sorry, I'm just so used to hearing you nattering all the time, it just slipped," he tried to joke.

Doug let out a scoff then changed the subject. "How are you doing with the reports anyway?"

"So far, the case is solid. There's no holes and there's quite a few suspects."

"That's good."

He couldn't wait to start working on a case. He had been itching to go back to work as soon as possible, itching for life to go back to way it was.

It never will.

He blinked in surprise. The voice was different. It sounded like it had come from his own. Funnily enough, he couldn't argue against it. People looked at him differently now. Even his mom. There was no doubt in his mind she was ashamed of him because of his stupid mistake. He was sure everyone in her neighbourhood knew about it. It didn't matter he was found innocent in the end because the damage was done.

"Yo Tom!"

He shook out of his thoughts, then glared at Doug. "What?"

"I asked who you think is the suspect?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "One of the jocks maybe."

"What a great input," Doug teased.

"Well, I don't know. I haven't met any of them have I?" he shot back, annoyed.

Doug ignored him after that.

He resented the voices for ruining things for him. He felt alone. Like no one could ever understand.


	2. Chapter 2

"When did the voices start?" A psychiatrist asked.

"Sometime after I was released from Folsom," he answered. "They sound like the inmates I met in prison who used to hound me day and night." He looked at the floor. "It's like they won. Their insults, their threats didn't break me whilst I was in there but now they're in my head... it's different.. it's worse." He looked up to meet the eyes of his psychiatrist.

But there was no one there.

He just made him up on the spot. And why not? He didn't want to see a real one in case anyone found out.

His psychiatrist, which looked quite a lot like Jack Nicholson never judged him, nor did he give any answers. He was just a listening ear.

Sure, he had his best friend, Doug. He used to tell him everything. No matter how silly. But to tell him he heard voices? It sounded too crazy and knew for certain, his friend of four years wouldn't understand. When he struggled with grief after Amy Pearson died, Doug distanced himself away from him and whenever they crossed paths, he acted stand offish. Anyone would have felt upset and angry but he knew Doug all too well to understand his reasons why. Doug was the kind of person who tend to use humour to guard himself from difficult situations. And he couldn't very well joke about Amy being dead could he?

"How would you describe the voices?" the psychiatrist asked.

Not only do they belong to inmates he was able to distinguish, but they sounded as though they were talking next to him and whether side by side or behind. Every time he would look to the direction, there would be no one there. In his dreams however, the voices had a face.

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Ever since he got his job back, no case had been given to him. In the first month he could understand, but in the second? It was a joke. Everyone else had a case. Doug just finished his a week ago and Judy and Harry were still on that drug case. He couldn't wait to go back to work, to be a cop again. He was sure the voices were only going to get worse if he couldn't get something to put his time and energy into.

When enough was enough, he one day waltzed into Fullers office to get some answers.

"Why haven't I got a case yet?"

"How many times have I told you to knock first?!" Fuller snapped at his desk, shutting a file he had been reading.

He didn't feel in the mood to apologise then go through the whole motion of going out and knocking again like Fuller usually asked him to.

Fuller must have sensed this too because he let out a sigh of defeat. "I just hadn't come across a case that I thought you were suitable for."

"You know very well I could handle a drug case."

"I picked Judy and Harry solely because - " Fuller stopped before a fuse could be blown. "I don't need to explain this to you."

"Well, when are you giving me a case?"

"You can have the next one okay?"

He relaxed.

"You want to sit down?"

He didn't see the reason why he should because the problem he had was resolved.

"If you got anything to tell me about, I'll listen," he said, placing his hand to his heart to show that he cared. And I'll help."

"I'm fine," he reassured him. "I just want a case to work on that's all."

He had to admit Fuller was a good captain . No other boss would've had enough patience as he and he couldn't count how many times he covered up his mistakes and saved his ass.

However, there was no doubt in his mind Fuller would send him to the department's psychiatrist. He did it soon after he lost Amy after all. He had hated it. He found the whole thing intrusive and unhelpful, that he swore he would never see one again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the beginning, he blamed the ever increasing voices down to his recent troubles with insomnia. But when it only got worse, he didn't know what to do - or what to think. Hearing awful words belonging to twenty different voices was terrifying. And that fact he lived alone and spent most evenings alone, made it worse.

There was one time when enough was enough and he dropped everything and went over to Doug's.

Doug looked surprised when he unexpectedly showed up at his door that one late evening. He had concern written all over his face. It was probably because he rarely went over at his -especially without calling first. All the times when he did were emergencies or when he really needed someone to talk to.

Unfortunately, he knew telling Doug wouldn't be the best idea. He just wouldn't understand.

What he really needed was a friend, a friendly voice with a face.

"Come in. Is everything okay?" Doug said almost immediately.

"Yeah everything's fine," he lied, letting himself in. "I just got bored at home."

He stopped when he noticed a pizza box on the coffee table with three slices left.

"You've got company?"

"No, no," Doug reassured him. "I just got absolutely starving and needed a take out."

_He's such a pig_, he smiled to himself. _You're the pig. Pig cop pig cop_. He cleared his throat loudly to push the intrusive voice out.

He helped himself to a slice. It was lukewarm but still edible. He noticed the TV was on showing a horror movie.

"Wanna watch? It's one of the elm street films."

He wasn't too fond of horror films but couldn't think of anything else to watch. Doug had a massive video collection - but he'd seen most of them all. He settled down to watch.

"Want anything to drink?"

"Uh, just a coffee."

Not long after Doug disappeared into the kitchen, the sound from the TV drowned out and his mental voices returned.

_Cops like you should be dead. No doubt we'll be taking your lights out tonight. Skin the pig!_

He battled against them._You can't do 're not real._

_Real? Neither are you. Just how many personas have you made up during your undercover career? Fifty? A hundred? You nothing but a LIE! _

He jumped in surprise from both the loud voice and when Doug appeared to hand him a coffee.

"Whoa easy there partner, it's just coffee!"

Tom smiled sheepishly, taking the mug in his hands.

_How long will it take until Doug finds out that I've cracked? How long will the voices taunt me?_ He chest clenched in panic at the the thought it could not only stay, but get worse.

In the beginning, he first thought the voices were normal. He spent six months in prison enduring their threats and ridicules, of course he needed time to adjust to normalcy, to silence.

But he hadn't exactly had a history of good mental health. He struggled when he lost his father at aged sixteen, when he lost his girlfriend, Amy, two years prior and all the other times when he had lost somebody and when some cases were too much to handle. In the end he accepted the fact hearing voices wasn't normal at all.

"You sure everything's okay?" Doug asked.

He mentally shook away the voices. the movie now ended and credits were rolling.

_How much did I miss?_

"Um I'm pretty tired to be honest."

Doug disappeared from the room then came back with a red fleece blanket. It was for him so he could sleep on the couch tonight.

"Is that alright?"

"Yeah thanks"

He swallowed hard. Doug was such a good friend. Who would've let him in at this time of night and let him crash on the couch? He knew he wouldn't. His heart was ice cold compared to his best friend. Doug had always been forgiving even after the time he refused to let him crash for just one night after his girlfriend chucked him out. Doug was the only person who liked his company. Why? he didn't know. It was something he ought to ask him one day.

He tossed and turned.

He hated going to sleep. Sleep, in his opinion, was there to regenerate the mind and body but what was the point in sleeping if there was only suffering?

He would have recurring nightmares about being back in a cold cell, on a hard bed hearing their torments over and over. He would constantly toss and turn and then wake up drenched in sweat. He did have nightmares whilst in prison but not as bad as when he got out. It made no sense and it wasn't fair. It didn't even make a difference staying at a safe place for the night. He woke up by a flash of light similar to a torch the guards had at past midnight.

His heart drummed.

He could see only darkness.

_Am I in Folsom? Am I in a jail cell? Was I awakened by a guard? _

_Please god..._

Suddenly he saw another flash; They were car headlights that had swept across the window. It was only a few seconds but it was enough to see his surroundings. He breathed a sigh of relief. I'm at Doug's! He waited until his heart rate returned to normal then he drifted back to sleep.

He awoke in the morning feeling worse for wear. He was naiive to think he could escape any more nightmares after that diabolical. He sat up and untwisted the sheets from his legs. Whilst he did that, he noticed the smell of fried eggs coming from the kitchen.

He didn't feel very hungry. But he was thirsty. He scraped back his tousled hair then went into the kitchen.

"Morning!" Doug greeted. He was frying two eggs in a pan. "Sleep well?"

"The best," Tom replied sarcastically.

"I didn't think so."

He frowned. _That was a strange comment. How did he know?_ He was sure he didn't get up at anytime of the night.

Doug flipped the eggs onto the plate then turned off the hob. He then turned round. "I heard you last night."

He gave away a dumbfounded look.

"It sounded like you were being attacked last night. You were yelling." said Doug. "I went to check on you thinking you actually were but you were just dreaming."

"Oh."

What else was there to say besides the fact he felt deeply embarrassed about it? He had no idea the dreams made him act out in his sleep. It would be the last time he would sleep over at Doug's, that's for sure.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"I can't remember," he lied.

"It was Freddy Krueger again, wasn't it?"

"Maybe," he joked.

"Well," Doug chuckled. "You want breakfast?"

"Nah, I'll pick up something later."

"What's wrong with mine?"

"Nothing!" he replied truthfully. "A coffee would do me thanks."

He sat at the coffee table, and gripped the hot cup of coffee with his hands, burning his skin purposely. "Thanks for everything."

There, he said it. Something nice for once.

"It's alright," Doug responded casually.

He unreleased his grip and looked at his hands. They were angry pink.

_You deserved it._


	3. Chapter 3

**This references 'say it aint so pete' in season 4 to get an idea where the time frame is.**

He used to describe the jump street team like family but after he got his job back, things were somehow different . Besides Doug, the others seemed distant, cold, their smiles a facade. He wondered if they didn't think he deserved to get his job back. Maybe they lost faith in him after his biggest screw up. Maybe they never shook away the feelings they had when they all thought he was guilty. Either way it hurt a great deal. He didn't need voices to convince him he was better off quitting...

Judy spoke to him a little bit today.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favour?" She winced as she asked this.

"Okay?"

"I was given algebra homework to complete by tomorrow," she placed the papers on his desk, "but I have to go to this party tonight with these girls who I think would give answers to this case. It's only starting in an hour and I really need to rush home and find something to wear!"

"You can't use any old excuse?"

Judy shook her head. "The maths teacher is the worst. She'll totally humiliate me in front of class."

He sighed. "Okay."

"Thanks, I owe you one!" She gushed before rushing out.

"Believe me, she doesn't mean it when she says that," said Doug. "She owes me over ten bucks, a week holiday and a corn dog."

"It's okay. I had nothing to do anyways." He crooked a smile. "A corn dog?"

Inside, he thought doing that favour for her would somehow bring them closer again. In the beginning he had a crush on Judy but knew it was best to stick to the 'don't date your co-workers' rule.

"Are you not gonna revise for the detectives exam?" Doug asked.

He never said he was going to do it. He in fact joked that he got a letter of recommendation from his cell block captain. In all honesty, he didn't give a damn about the exam.

"I'm not doing it."

"What do you mean you're not doing it?" Doug said. "Everyone is taking it."

That 'everyone' was Doug, Judy and Harry. They had their heads stuck in their books all week and the exam was going to be held in two days.

"You're gonna wing it right?" Doug guessed.

"I said I'm _not_ doing it." Tom said, annoyed. I'm not smart. _I'll just fuck it up like everything else._

"Well you're crazy. You'll get you a really cool badge if you pass."

He shook his head in mock disbelief.

"Well, I'm gonna study," said Doug, placing a book in front of his face, purposely blocking his view.

Tom chuckled. "Good luck with that."

"I don't need luck."

The time had finally come in which he got a case handed to him.

The case revolved around a college gambling operation. There was a young college student named Darryl who had a major gambling problem and it didn't help the fact the business he dealt with, a bar named Rosalitos was just as corrupted.

He never had a gambling case before but found it fun compared to the others because he spent a lot of time at Rosalitos drinking beer, talking to interesting, mostly young people and gambling with Darryl. There was so much action going on, that it made the voices submerge with ease.

After each day, he hated going back to his dorm, which was a temporary accommodation, because it was small, dark and empty. And once he settled in, the voices would spring back, and at all at once like a bunch of friends anticipating for a catch up. Except well, they weren't friends.

Doug was on the case as well, working alongside the doorman. But it made it difficult to catch up with each other because they were on different sides.

He once asked Darryl why he blew thousands on gambling, his answer was escapism. He understood this because at times when he gambled with him, the voices would stop and so would his anxieties about the present and the future. Each day he went through the motions of money in money out like it was nothing.

Because he was enjoying the case, he handled it slowly and steadily - something he hadn't done before. It made him realise the mistakes he made in the past were because he rushed it just to prove he was a good cop.

One night, he walked alongside Doug discussing the case. Eventually when there was nothing left to say, silence consumed them. He wanted to tell Doug a million things that ate him alive but chose the last thing on his list - quitting. He knew Doug wasn't going to take it well - and he didn't. He told him that it was a stupid idea and that it was in his blood to be a cop and nothing else.

He knew he had referred to his dad. And it made him feel bitter. He had come to realise that even though they shared the same blood, he could never be him. He was bigger (a head taller and full of muscle), cooler, smarter, and was loved by many.

"Just don't do anything crazy before checking with me first," said Doug.

He didn't move.

"Say okay."

"Okay," he responded, annoyed.

Doug didn't look at least bit satisfied and looked upset more than anything.

It made him feel so terrible, he promised he would never bring it up again and bought him a pizza to cheer him up.

While eating, he felt convinced it was a stupid decision after all. He had no other option. Being a cop was all he ever known.

There was also a problem with recession. It had been high in Vancouver in the past year. A few businesses shut down, leaving empty shells of boarded up windows. Some turned to crime in order to feed their families. If that wasn't enough, he feared venturing in unfamiliar job roles and fucking them up too.

He remembered Doug was doing his detectives exam tomorrow. He had studied like crazy, that he was sure he was going to pass it.

"Good luck on the exam tomorrow."

Doug paused eating then wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked worried for a second. "Thanks."

"I'll swing by after if you want."

"Thanks."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Tom struggled to get to sleep as usual. Only, he kept seeing flashes of images about slots and poker whenever he closed his eyes. It was reflected from all that gambling he had been doing with Darryl pretty much all day.

He sat up startled when he heard a sudden knock at the door.

He guessed it could be Darryl because he usually invited him to poker right on campus. The knocks become so persistent, he rushed to answer it even though he had nothing underneath but a blanket wrapped round his slim frame.

To his surprise, it turned out to be Doug. It had been three weeks into the case and he hadn't once dropped by until now.

"What's up?"

"I just needed someone to talk to," Doug said quietly.

Doug looked rather torn - until he actually looked at him.

"Are you naked?!"

Frowning, he pulled the blanket tighter. "I wasn't expecting anybody." He ushered him back out. "Just give me a couple of secs." He closed the door, got dressed then let him back in.

"Sorry if I woke you before."

"You didn't."

Doug scanned his dorm room. "Is this it? It's tiny."

Because there was no chair, Doug had to sit on the bed.

"Doesn't it drive you crazy?"

"No. I'm out most of the time with Darryl," he replied. "He blew his college fund today you know."

"You've got to be kidding," said Doug, shocked. "We're gonna have to do something."

Tom shrugged. "I tried talking him out of it but he refused to listen."

"The doorman is really getting impatient with getting the money. If I were you, I'll be careful."

"Sure.

Doug diverted his attention then sighed. "The reason I came by... just... I failed the detectives exam.

He blinked in surprise. _That was why Doug looked torn up back there._

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"I don't get it. I studied like crazy."

"Don't worry about it. You can always try again next year."

Doug gave him a look. "You would've passed."

"But I didn't."

Doug paused." Why did you?" he questioned. "Judy and Harry took a shot at it."

"How did they do?" He questioned, changing the subject

"Judy did, Harry didn't."

"See? Not everyone nails it."

"Harry didn't even study."

He thought about Harry for a moment. He seemed to be struggling lately. He still had a slight limp and seemed rather agitated. He found it difficult to approach him because he acted like he resented him somehow. The worst thing about it was, he had no idea why.

"Is he okay?"

"Ah, I don't know. Fullers already on his case."

He felt troubled. He had been so wrapped up in his own head, he didn't look closely at how Harry was doing.

"How are you doing?" Doug asked.

"Um fine... fine." He swallowed hard, looked away. He had a chance to blurt out everything off his chest but when he tried, the words remained locked in.

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The case was wrapped up much sooner than he anticipated. It was all the doorman's fault for attempting to punch his lights out over owing money. He come of it unscathed. It was Doug and the doorman who got all busted up after they fought with each other.

Finishing cases had always gave him a lift but this one left him feeling torn. He had no choice but to be stuck behind the desk again, drilled by the voices day in day out.

Coming home was no better. His apartment reflected how chaotic his head was.

He used to be a bit OCD about being tidy so if anyone saw how his space looked now... they'll be shocked.

He had approximately four locks on his door and although a hassle, he had to lock every one. He wondered if he should screw on some more just one the safe side. Anyone could find him. Anyone could kill him. He could make a massive list of people who wanted him dead. Those from Folsom topped the list

His eyes scanned his apartment. The mess almost looked worse than Doug's flat and that was saying a lot. He kicked the carton of Chinese noodles he had last night from his path, as well as the empty beer cans. He wasn't going to lie his mess was his own. Everything was his - even the ashtray. He never liked smoking before but now he become accustomed to it because it helped calm his nerves. He'd only have one, maybe three a day. Enough to not get caught out by others.

Once he settled to watch mindless tv, he grew in his habitat and forgotten the jungle.

xxxxxxx

He watched Harry from the far end of the room. His hair was getting long and he looked... tired somehow. He was writing away but kept pausing to think.

He noticed a while back Harry didn't need the aid of a stick any more but he still kept it by his desk.

He went to make himself coffee which wasn't far from Harry. He stared some more but before long, he caught him.

"What?"

"Want me to make you coffee?" he asked quickly as he could think.

"No thank you," Harry grumbled.

He edged closer. "Harry I..." he paused. He didn't have the guts to ask anything. If he was okay, and most importantly why he acted like he hated him.

His eyes caught sight of these pill bottles behind his desk. He knew he had a prescription but not that many...

Harry must had caught him staring because he slammed the drawer shut.

"They are doctors orders."

But he was better now right? He eyed the stick. It was picking up dust.

"Your phone is ringing," Harry said flatly.

He turned around to check it was true and that Harry wasn't trying to get rid of him. But true enough, the phone on his desk was ringing and no one was close by to pick it up.

He grabbed his coffee then returned to his desk to take the call.

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"Harry is still acting off with me," he told Doug later at lunch. They were at their favourite fast food joint called rocket dogs. They both had burger and fries each. "I don't understand what I've done," he continued.

"You haven't done anything. He's been like that with everyone. You know, he used to love my jokes but now he finds them irritating."

"Because they suck," he teased. He took another bite of his burger. "Well is there anything we can do?"

"Fullers on it."

"Are you certain about that?"

"Okay, I'll try talking to him."

He quietly finished the rest of his food whilst the voices dragged him down.

_He hates you. he wishes you had got shot and put in a coma. You were out there in the ghetto neighbourhood as he. He wished your ass stayed in prison. They all think that._

"Doug didn't," he said quietly.

Doug frowned at him. "What?"

_Not again._

"Um...didn't.. Harry tell you he still takes prescription pills?"

"Yeah, he told me he needs to take them for at least another month then it's finished. Done."

"But he's got loads in his desk drawer."

Doug didn't say anything but looked very worried.


	4. Chapter 4

**Posting this chapter was hard because I'm pretty sure you guys won't like it OH DEAR! But if I'm wrong let me know with a review**

**Warnings apply... sensitive nature...**

The more he thought about those pills, the more obsessed he got. It was a couple of days later since he mentioned the pills to Doug. He stayed late at the office because he still had work to do. By time he finished, everyone had gone home. He straightened up then took in his surroundings. The main light was out and the only source of light was from desk lamps. It was eerily quiet too except, on occasion, the pipes would act up and produced freaky banging sounds. He was about ready to head off home when he become drawn to Harry's desk. With no plan, nor rational thought, he walked over to the desk and slid open the drawer. A treasure of pills were all there. He rummaged through them and read each label. Some he recognised, some he didn't. And knew one or two were painkilling drugs.

_Take them._

He shook his head. _No_.

_Take them!_ \- the voices chorused over and over.

He shut his eyes and put his hands over his ears.

_If you take them, we'll go away. We promise... promise..._

"Fine!" he shot back, flustered and angered.

He sat behind the desk and began picking random pills out of the bottles. He then carefully picked out each one from his hand and swallowed. Again and again until the voices faded away.

He stopped, feeling utter shame and regret.

His heart rate began to flutter and that worried him.

_Oh god, what have I done? I wanted to kill the voices, not myself! I don't want to die...not now._

Sweat beaded around his brow and his body felt heavy but somehow he still had the strength to dial a number and pick up the receiver.

"Yes?"

"Doug...?"

"That you Tom? What are you doing calling from work?"

"I..."

"Tom?" Doug sounded worried. "You okay? Tom!"

Those were was the last words he heard before he was enveloped into darkness.

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He awoke to a sheering, bright light. _Am I dead? Is this heaven?_ He waited and slowly everything come into focus. The first thing he saw was a window and through the open blind, he could see it was raining so heavily, it streamed down the glass, blurring the view from the outside.

_This isn't heaven._

The voices returned... talking amongst each other. They sounded far away and unintelligible. He knew they were talking about him.

They always did.

His eyes travelled to the iv line, the heart rate monitor then down to himself. He was tucked under a scratchy blanket and noticed his clothes was replaced with a blue spotty gown. He wanted to complain about the gown but there was no one around. It was a small room and the only bed there was the one he was in. The door was shut but there was a window where he could see people rush by. He wanted to leg it out of there but he had the iv lines drawn into his flesh. In the end he gave up and willed himself back to sleep.

Next time he awoke, he saw Fuller and Doug in the room. He swallowed hard. He decided he much preferred waking up and seeing nobody there.

"Tom, you're awake!" Doug cried.

While Doug fussed over him, hugging and tearful, Fuller just stood there looking stern and very very mad.

"I'm sorry."

Fuller didn't say a word. In fact, he walked out the door.

"Fuller's mad at me."

Doug stepped back and looked at him dutifully. "I'm mad at you too. How can you do something so stupid? And most of all, why?"

He nibbled his lip, recoiling at the thought of telling the truth. It could change everything. "I didn't mean to do it," he could only tell him.

"Oh, you didn't mean to take more than a couple of Harry's pills?" He spat. "You could've died Tom. It would've killed me if I lost you because.." Doug softened. "...despite everything, I still love you."

He fought against the beginning of tears. He needed to hear that, to feel loved. He spent a whole six months in Folsom. It was a dark, unspeakable place filled only with hate. He was certain, if Doug hadn't of visited him in prison, he would've given up.

And he was the only one who bothered to. None of his friends visited - nor did his own mother whom he hadn't seen since.

He turned and faced the other way. He did it because he didn't want Doug to see emotions crack on his face. He often put up that wall to hide weakness. It was something he did ever since his father died.

"I'm tired."

"Fine..." Doug said, sounding rather disappointed and angry.

Once he heard him leave, tears prickled his eyes.

He felt even worse when he later learned doctors had to pump drugs out of his system and was put on suicide watch. If he hadn't of called Doug, he would've died.

He heard Doug drove all the way to Jump Street because he had bad gut feeling. He saw he was unconscious so he called the ambulance.

He saved his life.

And he shut him out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that day, he was told he had another visitor. He didn't expect it to be anyone else but his co-workers. It had to be Judy, Harry or someone else from work. He straightened up in bed then fixed his hair. When he saw who this visitor was, he froze in shock.

His mother.

Stood warily by the door frame.

She wore a floral dress which like it had been bought new. She also had a new haircut, her shoulder length hair transformed into a pixie cut. It made her look ten years younger and much of a stranger.

She cautiously edged closer, the light catching her glassy eyes. And she stopped just by his bed.

He hated her in an instant. She was his mother and his only family and she cut him out of her life because of one stupid mistake. He had called, wrote letters. Dropped by once and was turned away. He remembered she looked around rather than at him to check the neighbours weren't looking. He could never forget her last words before she shut the door in his face.

"Tommy, you shamed me. I need you to leave."

Before the Bud Tower mess, she was loving and caring like any mother should be. They used to catch up every week and always spent Christmas time together. Nothing she had done was remotely cruel which made the act of ignoring him harder to understand.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, his tone sharp as ice

"The hospital called me."

"You thought you'd show up to make them happy, right? In that case, you can go."

She shook her head, her eyes filling up with tears. "That's not true."

She sat on the bed then took his hand.

"You're my only child. My son."

He pulled his hand away from her clasp like he had been burned. "Who you've ignored for almost a year?

"I regret it now. You don't understand how hard it was for me. Everyone thought you shot a cop in cold blood. And they thought I was the blame for raising you wrong. I've lost some people as friends because of it. But I don't care about that anymore. I wanted to talk to you again so badly but feared things were already broken between us and that you'd never forgive me anyway," she paused. "But I wrong. I realised now... I could lose you any time." She let out a sob. "I could of lost you only a couple of hours ago.

He turned his face away, hiding his tear stained eyes.

"Please tell me you didn't do this because of me."

He wanted to lie to hurt her but at the same time, he thought it was too cruel.

"No, not because of you."

"Then why?"

"I don't know."

He flinched in surprise when she suddenly wound him into a hug.

He stiffened and didn't move until she let go.

"I'm gonna visit every day. I promise."

She was about to leave but stopped by the door. She turned to smile then left for good.

He was left with mixed feelings. He couldn't find it in his heart to forgive her but she was his only family.

The next day, Doug was the first to visit him. He studied him closely before he said or did anything else.

"Is something troubling you?"

He looked away. "My mom visited me last night."

Doug nodded slowly. He knew all the details about their troubled relationship because he told him everything. He was just as shocked because he met her a few times and thought she was nice. Funny too.

"What did she say?"

"Only that she was sorry."

"That's a start." Doug said positively.

"I don't know... she looks different... like she's been doing well without me basically."

"You don't know that."

"Whatever."

Doug didn't say anything more but nor did he leave. He sat down and switched on the TV, landing on a breakfast show program.

He couldn't concentrate nor did he even feel like watching it. He looked at Doug instead. _I should tell him. He's my best friend. We used to share everything together. Dark secrets, struggles and dilemmas._ But he sealed everything since he got out of Folsom, besides troubles with his mom.

"Doug?"

"Yeah?" He replied, disinterested, his eyes glued onto the TV screen.

"I..."

_Say it._

"I... hear voices."

Doug turned to look at him, baring confusion. "The volume is on."

"I mean, in my head," he explained. "That's why I took the pills, to get rid of them."

Doug stared at him in state of shock.

He seemed stuck on what to say so he continued. "It started ever since I got out of prison. I didn't think much of it at first because I thought I needed time to readjust," he explained. "The voices sounds like it comes from the inmates who gave me a hard time. They tell me stuff... unpleasant stuff."

"Do you... hear them now?" Doug asked uncomfortably.

"No. Just sometimes - usually when I'm stressed or bored."

"I had no idea.." he said. "You didn't tell me a single thing. You never talked about Folsom. You practically pretended the whole thing never happened."

"I was trying to deal with it the best I could," he explained. "I know hearing voices sounds crazy and I feared you'd look at me differently if I told you." He sighed. I'm Tom Hanson. I'm supposed to be strong and I'm supposed to be...normal."

"We'll get you help," Doug said softly.

His body sank. "Suppose I have to, don't I?"

"Well duh, The worst of the worst already happened."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Next time Fuller visited him, he looked surprisingly calm. But his eyes looked sullen.

He was about open his mouth to speak but Fuller put his hand up.

"Doug already told me all about it."

He didn't feel mad for Doug telling. Not really. The truth had to come out eventually.

Fuller moved the chair to face him then sat down.

"I feel responsible..." he began.

"Why? You haven't done anything."

"That's right... I never _done_ anything," said Fuller. "I should've made you see a psychiatrist before allowing you back to work."

"I wouldn't have listened."

Fuller hooked a small smile. "That's probably why I didn't." His face grew serious. "I failed Harry as well."

He panicked. "Is he okay?"

He sighed. "He admitted he become addicted to prescription drugs."

He knew it. He knew it all along.

"He agreed to get some help," said Fuller. "Now I'm just hoping it'll make two of you."

"I do... want help," he said, struggling to admit it.

"Good."

Fuller sat back in the chair, much more relaxed. "You're the reason Harry got help you know. When he found out you took his pills and almost died, he feared the same thing would happen to him."

He didn't know what to say that could sound appropriate so he just nodded.

"I spoke with the doctors and they arranged for you to stay at a psychiatry unit for a couple of weeks."

He wasn't surprised. He knew this was coming also. He felt relieved but also anxious about the whole thing. He swallowed hard. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

"But I haven't got anything packed."

All he had, was the clothes he almost died in bagged somewhere.

"Make a list of what you need and I'll ask Doug to get them."

He nodded slowly, worried all the same.

Fuller patted his hand. "Good luck."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His mom came by not long after Fuller left. She wore a different dress this time, a white one with long sleeves.

He smile was strained. And she was clutching her handbag tightly.

"Hi Tommy."

He stared at her blankly. "Hi."

She sat down. "The doctors told me everything," she said. "I just wanted to wish you luck."

He waited for her to elaborate.

She waited in return.

He gave her the benefit of doubt. She should understand mental illness because she struggled with it herself - with grief. He remembered taking care of her day in and day out after his father died. And remembered her lying in bed crying half the time, refusing to eat, refusing to do anything. He had to forget his own grieving process in order to take care of her. He almost blew his chances of graduating just to take care of her and she does this...

Suddenly, there was a ringing sound.

"Excuse me..." she apologised. She pulled out her phone from her handbag and peered at it. She stood up abruptly. "Sorry, it's Phil. I better go answer."

"Whose Phil?"

She paused. "A guy... I've been seeing."

He was shocked and hurt. His mother hadn't dated since his father died and vowed she could never love another.

He wanted to hurl a million insults but she already left the room to take the call.

He waited.

And waited.

She never came back.


	5. Chapter 5

Here he was. His first day at the psychiatry unit. It was second from the last place he wanted to be. The first was a grey old prison cell once again. But who knows if it would be the same? Unfortunately he couldn't turn back.

The place was located outside the city surrounded by green and walled in with old gnarly trees.

The front doors were security controlled and could only be let in by members of staff. He was introduced to a lady who worked there, middle-aged and had wiry blond hair. She looked exhausted, but smiled all the same.

"Welcome to Birchwood," she greeted. "My name is Leanne. I mostly work in the office so you probably won't see me much!"

She led him to her office where he had to sign for his admission.

He skimmed through the papers and caught a handwritten note on the second page.

_ \- Patient works in the police force. No previous record of mental health issues. Was referred to the department's psychiatrist in 1988 after tragic death of then girlfriend, Amy Pearson. Doesn't take any prescriptions. Claims to suffer from auditory hallucinations. Depressed? - has recently attempted suicide. -_

_I didn't attempt suicide... it was an accident. _

He looked up at Leanne.

"Just sign the bottom."

He felt too tired to argue so he just went ahead and signed it.

Afterwards, she showed him around the unit. It looked like it had been recently built. The floors gleamed and the walls were flash white. Along these walls, there were posters related to mental health. By the end of the corridor, he saw a collection of positive quotes pinned on the wall handwritten by patients.

There was one quote that stood out from the rest:

'Happiness is letting go of what you think your life is supposed to look like and celebrating it for everything that it is.'

He thought he had always been hard on himself and strived for perfection in everything he did.

"Could you wait here a moment?" Leanne interrupted. "I'm going to fetch Carol. She will help you settle in."

Once she disappeared, he felt all over the place.

He couldn't shake off the heavy sense of unease based on trust. _What if they mistreated me, abuse my rights and dignity like Folsom or like the time I went undercover in a unit two years prior?_

He stood frozen in spot - until a young girl approached him. She looked around fifteen years of age, wore black coal eyeliner and had short hair. It looked uneven as though she may had cut it herself.

"You're new."

It didn't sound like a question more like validation.

"Yeah."

She scrutinised him closely

"Did you go to Leyland high?"

"No, I'm twenty five."

She laughed. "No way! You look like you could be in high school!"

He shrugged. He disguised the fact he did go to high schools for a living and probably went to hers too.

Not long after, they were interrupted by one of the workers. She was a large lady and she looked quite flustered.

"Sorry you've been kept waiting. I had to deal with something...Tom is it?"

"Yes"

"I'm Carol." She turned to the girl. "And this is Rebecca."

He nodded

"I'm going to help you settle in before meeting all the others. First days can be overwhelming for some."

He felt more at ease because everyone seemed friendly so far.

He said goodbye to Rebecca then followed Carol. She led him down another corridor which were the patients rooms. She showed him a room that was half-way down.

He was relieved to discover he had his own room and his own bed - even though it was small. On the wall, there was a poster of three young guys with a-ha titled on it. He didn't know much about current music these days but had heard of them before. He usually listened to music his dad loved, fifties music and jazz.

"Sorry our last patient forgot to take it with her." She unpinned the poster and rolled it up. "I'm certain she will come back for it. She loves them." She smiled. But it was a sad smile. "Well, dinner is in an hour," she said quickly. "We'll hand your belongings to you so you can unpack in the meantime."

"Thank you."

On unpacking, he noticed his things had been checked on. His razors were confiscated and the glass belonging to a picture frame of his father had been removed. He shoved his clothes in the drawer then laid back in bed. He had his eyes open, deep in thought.

_I can't believe it come to this..._

It wasn't like Folsom but the loneliness felt similar. He was cut off from the world and barely knew anyone... God knows how long he was going to be there.

He screwed his eyes shut, covering his face with his arm.

He could hear them outside his cell... It was his first day, and one inmate told him something chilling: "I don't know what you are or who you are but we're going to make you'll wish you were dead." And laughter...

"Don't mean to wake you - it's dinner time," said a voice.

He straightened up. It was only Carol.

He didn't sleep - at least he didn't think he did.

But there was no doubt that hour passed by fast...

She led him to the dining area. There was one large table and a canteen. Rebecca was already seated with two other girls.

From the canteen, he got a plate of chips and a carton of milk before he joined them.

"Hi Tom," Rebecca grinned.

She introduced the two girls- Samatha and Liz. They both looked around her age. Liz looked pale and rather underweight. She had a plate of chicken salad but nothing was touched. Samantha was quite large dark skinned. Her plate had two sandwiches and chips on the side.

"There is no way you are twenty five!" Said Samantha. She was loud and her laugh was even more so. "So what do you have? Split personality?"

"Uh no..." but she was close.

"Samantha, really," she hushed. "He only just got here!"

"Well mines bipolar," Samantha said openly.

Rebecca and Liz didn't say a word about themselves and were keen to change the subject.

He noticed on a man standing by the window. He was short, chubby and had a bit of grey hair. And he was mumbling incoherently to himself.

"Whose he?" He asked, keeping his voice low.

"Dave," Rebecca replied.

"He sees and hear things that aren't there," Liz shared.

He felt dread. _What if I end up like him, totally unaware?_

"He arrived here two days ago," said Rebecca. "Said he's going to be let go much sooner."

Samantha laughed. "Don't we all say that?"

A worker came by. She eyeballed Liz then Tom. "You haven't touched your food yet."

He began eating then Liz ate too - but slowly. When she went away to scold Dave and had her back against them, Samantha quickly stuck her tongue out.

"She's the only one who I hate in this whole place," said Samantha.

He must of looked worried because she then assured him it wasn't all bad.

"I prefer this to home, that's for sure."

Both Rebecca and Liz nodded in agreement.

He didn't however. He already hated not having his own space. Right now he would've been watching crap on tv while eating a Mac and cheese popped from the microwave. It didn't sound like fun but it was the same old routine that mattered.

"Is there a tv?"

"Of course. In the games room," Rebecca said. "We're going there after dinner anyway."

After they finished eating, the girls showed him the games room. The tv was wall mounted showing some talk show and there was a cabinet filled with video tapes. There was also a pool table and boxes of puzzles in the corner.

Folsom had a pool table too...

He ran his hand along the polished wood. He played pool with his cell mate once. And got so sucked into it, he almost forgot where he was. He had to watch his back constantly - even when asleep. When his guard was down, an inmate tried to stab him. In the struggle, the other inmates threw him onto the pool table kicking him, punching him. It was one of the many incidents where he was certain they were going to kill him... until the guards come out and saved his butt once again.

"You okay?" Rebecca asked.

He mentally shook out of his harrowing flashback.

"Yeah...I'm fine."

"You want to play?"

"Maybe another time."

His eyes moved down to something that caught his eyes. Scars. Scars scattered across Rebecca's arms. He swallowed, feeling sick all of the sudden. He couldn't understand why such a pretty girl could do that to herself.

She stared back - probably thinking the same. What's a normal looking guy like him doing here?


	6. Chapter 6

The following day, he had his first visitor.

Doug.

He was told he was allowed to go into a separate room to meet his visitors giving him a little bit of freedom.

The room was quiet and the only colour in it were the bright green chairs. He sat to wait for Doug.

In just a couple of minutes, Doug walked in, carrying a shopping bag.

"Good to see you Tommy," Doug said brightly. "So what's happening? You like it here?"

"It's alright. This place is much smaller than expected and there's only five patients - including me."

While he talked, Doug kept warily glancing at the door. It was slightly ajar and every once in a while, someone would pass by.

Patients were were allowed to roam free down the corridors - just not by the front door and kitchen. And Dave passed by mumbling to himself, not taking any notice of anything other than his own world.

Tom stood up and closed the door.

"Don't worry, it's safe here," he assured him.

Doug let out an uncomfortable chuckle. "Right."

He turned his attention on Doug's shopping bag.

"What's in there? "He asked, gesturing to it.

"Just a top up shop and..." He pulled out a jar of peanut butter which he had promised to bring.

"Thanks!" he grinned. "You are such a good friend." He froze.

He never told Doug this enough. And it made him feel good to say it.

Doug smiled.

"I mean it." He looked down at his worn sneakers. "I'm sorry I kept things from you."

"It's okay" said Doug. He sounded a little emotional and that hurt him more.

"Lets hope they let me have the peanut butter."

"It's in a plastic jar."

He crimsoned. _The staff must of checked him_. "Right..."

Doug rummaged through the bag then took out a packet of crisp to eat. They were his favourite flavor - roast beef.

"Sorry I'm hungry."

"Were they meant for me?"

"Maybe."

"Hey!" he laughed. He rooted in the bag and saw a packet of cheese crackers, chocolate and more crisps.

He grabbed the beef to save for later.

"How long am I going to be here?"

"I really don't know..." Doug said sadly.

Neither did he. But he felt he needed a break. He had worked non-stop since he was seventeen. In those years as a cop, he seen and experienced a lot of ugliness. He was only twenty-five and already broken.

"Thanks for packing up my stuff by the way."

"You're welcome," said Doug. He then chuckled to himself. "Your apartment was almost as messy as mine!"

He sank in embarrassment. Just how many beer cans and packaging did he had to kick through? Then he realised something. Doug used the present tense.

"Was?"

"Yeah, Judy cleaned it up."

He shot him bewildered look. "Judy?"

"You know what she's like. She came over to mine once just to chat about a case then ended up cleaning the place!"

He felt even more embarrassed. Just how much more of his life had to be exposed? All his life he was used to hiding behind his perfect exterior until now.

Later he met his new psychiatrist, Dr. Moore

He didn't look like one. In fact, he looked like he used to be one of those loser types in high school. He was overweight, wore glasses that had been taped on the nose, and had short frizzy hair.

In the room, there was lots of books and lots of sweet jars too.

Moore caught him staring at one of the jars. "Want a jelly bean?"

"Uh... no."

"Let's get down to business then, have a seat."

He sat. He found the session awkward at first but after a few silly questions about his likes dislikes, interests and hobbies, he relaxed.

He already knew he was a cop and he already knew he heard voices. But never asked.

"That's all for today," Moore said suddenly.

"That's all?" he uttered in surprise. "I thought you wanted my whole life story."

"We'll start there tomorrow if you like." He pointed to one of the sweet jars. "Lollipop?"

"I'm not a kid."

Moore chuckled. "Got it. I can always bring in savoury snacks next time."

Not only did he see the psychiatrist but also had group therapy before dinner too. They asked stupid questions like 'how do they feel, why they feel that way, what could they do to change it'. He sat with them but didn't engage.

"How about you?" Carol asked.

Eyes were all on him.

He shrugged. "I feel fine."

"How did you feel before you came here?"

He looked down, twiddling with his fingers.

_Ashamed_.

"Have a think about it," Carol said then she turned her focus onto another person.

_Ashamed_ for being weak.

_Ashamed of hurting and disappointing everyone I know. _

Next time he met with Dr Moore, he opened up a bit more, starting with his life story. He told him he lost his father when he was sixteen and hadn't been able to properly grieve because he had to take care of his mother.

"I had to toughen up to take care of her and I remained that way ever since," he said. "I hadn't even changed physically. I still look sixteen!"

Moore smiled.

"As you may already know, I'm a cop," he replied. "and I usually go undercover in high schools pretending I'm a sixteen year old."

"Do you enjoy it?"

He scoffed.

He never liked High School the first time. He had no friends because almost everyone knew his father was a cop. They also thought he was a nerd. He used to get teased, name called...beat up. You name it.

Over the years at Jump Street, he learned the ins and outs of high schools and become many personas to fit the case. His favourite was Tommy McQuaid because he didn't care what he said or did to anybody. He just did it.

What he didn't like, was learning everything over again and getting homework. Lately, he kept telling himself he was too old for this.

"It pays the bills," he finally replied.

At the end of the session, Moore told him he was surprised how much he opened up compared to last time.

"Maybe I want to get better..." he said.

His mother dropped by later in the day but he refused to see her. He was still mad, struggling to get over the fact she's been seeing this guy Phil. _Did she try cutting the memories of his dad out of her life too?_

Judy hadn't visited him yet either. But She did visit him in prison, bringing flowers and a comforting hug. Doug told him she was upset because she felt responsible for not noticing the signs that he was struggling. Harry too. She felt she didn't deserve to pass that detectives exam if she couldn't see issues right in front of her eyes.

He thought she was being silly because he and Harry were both experts at hiding things and had managed fooled everybody around them for a long time. Not just Judy.

Over the next couple of days he followed the routine and began to relax a bit more. He even had a shot of pool with Dave and the girls.

Even though he was still mad at his mother, she still visited everyday without fail. It wasn't even easy for her because she lived quite far away. He promised himself to see her next time.

Doug visited him most days bringing food and books and magazines for him to read.

"It's been really quiet at jump street without you and Harry," he told him wistfully.

He could imagine. Jump Street was quiet to begin with and poor Doug must of been lonely without him. Not having Harry around must be for lonely for Judy too.

"How is Harry?"

"Not great. He's going through the hard part in his recovery... you know - withdrawals." Said Doug. "He asked about you... I said you were doing well."

He hesitated. He only felt fine because he was on prescription. It made them quieter, weaker but still around lurking.

He was scared they could all come back stronger than before if he stopped taking them.

It was no irrational fear but the truth as one particular voice made the threat...

There was person who understood it all and that was Dave. He did things the voices told him to and was adamant the voices and visions were real.

He understood it was easy to believe that notion because they had a lot of influence and power. And could even end one persons life...

He told most of his life story with Dr Moore. The most difficult being his false charge and landing in prison.

"...And that's when the voices started." he told him. "Everything they ever told me replayed in my head over and over again."

Tom paused to nibble his lip, anticipating to ask something he had been whacking his brains about. "Why me? Is it because I'm weak?"

"No," Moore replied right away. "I think things had become too much for you to handle. Sometimes our own minds can go against you just to tell you'll need to sit down and go through the healing process."

"If you think of it that way..."

"I had a patient once... who suffered from multiple personality disorder. She told me she was abused as a child and whenever it happened, she detached herself. She had created new people in her head to use her body so that they can suffer."

He was certain he didn't have multiple personality but hearing voices was almost the same thing.

But he didn't create the voices and didn't want them there in the first place.

"You've got to realise that you are much stronger than the voices, Tom. You should never believe or do what they say."

Easier said than done...

"It might help if you logged it in a diary. We can then go over one by one and break them down." He said. "Let's see if we can find one..."

He rummaged through the desk drawers, frowned then looked through the book case. He finally pulled out a small book and ripped out the first two pages before giving it to him. He guessed a patient wrote in it first.

He frowned at the dairy in his hands. "Is this really supposed to help?"

"Yes, the method is called CBT," he replied. "Most experts believe it's more effective than taking medication because it focuses at the root cause. It can help you notice the negative patterns and break it down."

Whatever it was, he had a good feeling about it. He didn't think taking anti-psychotic drugs would completely get rid of them. He had to break them one by one...


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry been ages since an update. Been so busy and was fighting the reluctance to carry on with it**

**Warnings do apply. I should've put the highest rating but then it wouldn't be available publicly.**

In just a few days, he had pages and pages. Moore went through a couple of them and helped him realise most of the thoughts were irrational and mostly untrue. Moore slowly closed the book then looked at him in all seriousness.

"You told me the inmates used to threaten, insult you, hit you...?"

"Yeah"

"Did they ever do other things?"

"Like what?" he frowned.

"Touched you in a sexual way?"

He felt sick and dizzy all of the sudden. He blocked most of the memories but knew some of inmates touched him and made him do things he didn't want to. They used this as a tool to break him because they knew knuckle punches and words weren't doing enough.

He hadn't been trained to deal with it and back then, he was a bit naive and thought things like that didn't happen in lock ups - especially to him. He was supposed to be a cop. He was supposed to be untouchable.

He swallowed down the bile that almost hit his throat.

He hadn't felt like this in a long time...

Moore shot him a sad look.

_He knows..._

"You want to talk about it?"

"Nothing happened," his voice cracked.

"I know you remembered something."

"I really can't remember, he said truthfully.

"I see... Did you know most dissosiative behaviours originate from sexual abuse?"

He teared up.

He didn't want to hear it. _Why was he doing this?_

"Nothing happened," he replied more forcefully. He then didn't say a word until Moore had no choice but to let him leave.

_Nothing happened. _

"Yo fitz! Yo fitz! You're gonna die."

Skin the pig...skin the pig...skin the pig..." the voices chanted.

His head reeled. His stomach lurched.

He was back at Folsom and it was cold...so cold...

He gripped the thin duvet, pulling tighter around him.

"You know who you are and what you are..."

_A narc. A pig cop. _

"Step up to your door man... I got something for ya."

He kept still, too afraid to move. Seconds later, a goldfish smacked down onto the ground just outside his cell. He had no idea where the inmate got it but it didn't matter... The fish was gasping, fighting for breath before his eyes.

"That's you... right there... ha ha!"

The inmate was right. Ever since he had been thrown behind bars, he felt like he was suffocating, gasping for breath just like that fish.

His clothes were off, his body bare and wet... like a fish. He hadn't finished showering. He was pushed up against the wall. He could barely breathe. He was crushed against the wall, hands touching him. Hot breath travelled down his ear. "I can't wait to fuck you pretty boy..."

He woke up screaming, eyes glazed. Staff come to help him but he couldn't see them... he could only see pure terror.

Upon waking that morning, he learned staff had to inject him with a tranquilliser in the night because he couldn't stop screaming. He felt much too groggy to eat breakfast so he rested some more.

He knew he didn't just have a nightmare.

It was real.

It all happened before.

He just blocked that part of his memory.

He felt like he had to blame Moore because it was only yesterday when he suggested sexual abuse.

He was adamant they didn't rape him but now he wasn't so sure...

At lunch time, the girls just stared at him. He knew they must of heard he freaked out last night.

_They think I'm crazy..._

As he walked to their table with his lunch, Liz leaned close to Samantha and whispered something.

_...And no cognitive thinking can prove otherwise,_ he thought.

"You okay?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah..."

He stuck his fork in the spaghetti, mindlessly twirling it around.

"What happened last night?" Samantha asked.

"I had a nightmare...or something."

"What about?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he almost snapped.

"Gee, okay," said Samantha, backing off.

He didn't want to talk to anybody else that day and avoided visitors AND Dr. Moore.

He reminded himself he wasn't the only one who had his own struggles. Most of the patients threw tantrums mostly over silly matters. Like an hour ago when Rebecca accused Samantha of eating her kit kat...

And Dave was taken to the padded room a lot because he would get angry and attack the nurses, insisting his voices were real and that he wasn't supposed to be here. He knew how he felt. It was easy to be confused between truth and lies. And he didn't want to be either but what choice did he have?

He had no intention of telling any of the patients he was a cop. None of them would trust him if he did. When thrown into Folsom, word got around fast about his past profession and they hated him because he used to be with the very people who busted them. Who knows if any of the patients had ran into the law in the past?

(Folsom - four months out of six)

He counted the hours down every time he knew Doug was heading down to visit him. He was the only reason he kept going. And to forget the hell he was in just by his presence in the room.

When it was time, he sat behind the glass. When he saw Doug showed up, he felt calm in an instant.

But he wasn't smiling as usual.

"Jesus Tom, they did that to you?"

He looked in his reflection on the pane of glass. He had a bruised eye, bruised cheekbone. He was equally taken aback. He hadn't looked in the mirror since he last got beat.

"Don't worry about it."

"You gotta tell the guards."

He let out a dry, bitter chuckle. "They love smacking me in the face as much as they do."

"That can't be right.. Every time I visit you there's always something."

"Ah well I'm not the most popular. I can't play my way through this like just another case can I?"

Doug's soft brown eyes glittered under the bad yellow lighting. Then he just dropped his head in silence.

"Can we just talk about other things - please?" He practically begged.

"I'm supposed to protect you."

"There's nothing you can do about it. I gave up trying, why don't you?"

Doug met his eyes. "That's not you talking. You're supposed to be fighting this."

_How can I fight? I have no chance of parole. There's forty odd guys who wants me broken. They mess with my head...they hurt me. They touch me._

He wanted to say all this but his throat locked.

He was scared to tell Doug anything because the guys threatened to rape him if he did. They used that same threat to get their way and it always worked. It could blow the lasting dimming light inside himself if they ever did.

He knew they were watching. He looked to his right and sure enough, one of the inmates was keeping him in check.

"I hate to cut this short but I've got to go," he said standing up.

Doug looked hurt. "But why? We've got loads of time!"

"I don't want you to come here making me more miserable than I already feel. Until next time, just talk about something else."

"Fine...if that's what you want," Doug said quietly.

(present time)

He studied himself in the mirror. His lips were feminine, plump and soft. And his sharp cheekbones, fair skin only added to that femininity. Upon closer inspection, he could see a scar on his eyebrow and one small one on his upper forehead. Both were inflicted by the inmates, tattooed forever.

He remembered the chilling words the prison boss (he couldn't remember his name. Didn't want to) said the first time they met...

"You oughta be careful in there with that face of yours," he had said in a thick southern accent.

"Why?" He had asked warily.

"They'll want a piece of your white ass."

He was shocked by his language but tried not to show it.

"I'm not gonna let that happen," he said defiantly.

The boss masked a chuckle. "In that case, good luck."

He hated the way he looked. He wasn't blessed. It only caused nothing but misery. Patrol could of kept him on if he didn't look so young. Since he could remember, his looks caused a lot of unwanted attention from both women and men.

"What the hell happened yesterday?" Doug asked. "They told me you didn't want to see me. That's so unlike you."

"I didn't feel well."

Doug studied him closely. "What happened?"

He diverted his gaze. "Nothing happened."

"Come on man, you promised you wouldn't hide anything anymore."

He hated to break his promise but...he just didn't want it to be real.

"I was tired because I couldn't sleep well last night, alright?" he replied.

"Alright..." Doug responded, evidently unsure.

He had a bad dream last night also. But instead of screaming, he woke up gasping, struggling to breathe. After a couple of minutes, he calmed down.

He remembered his dream so clearly, like he was there...alone...and outnumbered. His throat was gripped tightly and they laughed touched and jeered...

They touched his arm.

He flinched.

"Tom..."

It was only Doug who touched him, bringing him back to reality.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," he shrugged. "I'm still tired I guess..."

"I'll let you go so you can catch some sleep," said Doug, already stood up.

Then he left, leaving him stunned about what just happened.

He went to see Dr Moore two hours before he was supposed to see him to get some answers. He couldn't take it anymore. He was supposed to get better, not worse.

He went in without knocking, catching Moore sat behind his desk, eating sweets out of a jar of liquorice all-sorts.

He straightened up, startled. "You were supposed to knock first!"

He ignored him, sitting down in a huff. "I'm not happy."

"Neither am I," Moore shot back. He closed the jar with the lid. "I don't appreciate you waltzing in on my break."

He stared, dead-panned.

Moore sighed, letting it go. "I didn't get to see you yesterday Tom. I heard you had to be sedated... Can you tell me what happened?"

"I had a nightmare and I had another one last night," he exasperated. "I get them...but not as bad as this."

"What happens in them?"

"They're flashbacks - memories of what happened in Folsom," he replied. "I don't feel so great so do your job and help me."

"Okay," Moore said calmly. "Could you tell me in a little more detail about what you dreamt?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "You were...right."

"About what?"

He swallowed hard. "They touched me."

Moore didn't react. He didn't even look surprised.

"The dreams made me remember stuff that I tried to block out..."

"That's where it went wrong Tom. 'Blocking thing's out' can lead to dissociative disorders," he said softly. "I know it sounds difficult but the best treatment for it, is to remember. You'll learn to review them with greater control over your physical sense of comfort and safety by balancing painful memories with recognition of your efforts of protecting yourself."

Moore knew what he was talking about. He didn't want to face it... but it but he didn't want it to slowly eat him up either.

Soon after he spoke to Dr Moore, he went to his room for alone time. Sitting in the bed, he opened up his desk drawer and picked out the diary, flipped to the middle then wrote down every single thought in his head

He began with: I hate them for all the things they did to me.


	8. Chapter 8

Doug didn't see him again until the end of the week. He didn't even call or write. He didn't fret too much because he busied himself, writing in his diary, engaging more in group discussions and even painted a little in art therapy. He never understood art before and never done anything other than a doodle. Now he began to draw in his diary too.

When Doug did show up, he apologised and explained he had been working on a case with Alex.

"Whose Alex?" he quizzed.

"Oh, my new partner," Doug stuttered. "Didn't I tell you?"

He frowned. No," he snapped. "Why am I being replaced already?

"We're short staffed Tom," Doug replied. "There's only me and Judy."

He relaxed. He could just imagine stacks of paperwork and phones ringing upon two empty desks!

"What's he like?"

"Alex?" Doug smiled. "He's pompous - kinda like you."

He shot him a warning look. "Me? Pompous?"

"He always walks around in a suit, tie and briefcase. And he only likes to talk about politics and finance," Doug replied. "I don't think he'll last long."

He didn't smile. He had stopped to wonder if he'll ever return to jump street. What if his whole career was already wrapped up? What else should he do then? He worried the same thing when he got out of Folsom.

"Does he know about me?"

"Sure. I mean there's never a day where we don't talk about you. He can't escape it or anything."

"What do you remember?"

The more he spoke to Dr Moore, the more it hurt.

But funnily enough the more it hurt, the easier it got...

"I remember being curled up on the bathroom floor. I was watching blood - my blood - flowing in to the plug hole."

"What do you think happened?"

He thought hard. "They must of knocked me out. They had...done things. And next time I woke up, there was no one there."

"What 'things?'"

His skin crawled. He took in a breath - let it out.

"Around eight of them had me cornered. They kept touching me, laughing and jeering while I kept telling them to stop..."

They made him feel worthless and even disgusted with himself. He thought he should've tried harder. Fought harder, screamed louder...

"What are you thinking about?"

He thought quickly. "About the girl. The one with the multiple personality," he said. "Had she got better?"

"Last time I heard, she's happy. She's married and has two kids."

"Oh..."

Moore chuckled. "You don't sound very impressed."

"Getting married and having kids is a strange idea of happiness don't you think?"

Moore cocked his head to the side. "What's happiness for you?"

He didn't know. He wasn't fond of kids and didn't believe in signing a contract bound by love. He was almost certain Amy Pearson asked him that before, about what made him most happy. He probably said something stupid like, eating pretzels with sour cream. Now he had grown up a bit since then, he come to realise how selfish he had been. He knew now Amy would of liked his answer to be something like spending time with you.

He told Moore a bit about Amy in one of their earlier sessions before.

How he was close to breaking up with her just an hour before her tragic death. How it hit him when he realised he did love her, he was just annoyed about not having alone time after long days at work.

His heart tugged whenever he thought about her. What his life could had turned out if he did marry and have kids with her.

There was Jackie of course, who he dated last year. It could had been something but the relationship didn't feel deep enough. All they really talked about was work. It ended because of that when she babbled to her boss about a pending investigation on his own son who dealt drugs. He felt betrayed personally and professionally. From then on, he avoided relationships like the plague.

He let his mom see him for the first time since hospital. It had to be now or never.

She walked in wearing an old long skirt and jumper. She almost looked like her old self.

"Hi."

"Hi Tommy. I'm pleased you wanted to see me today." She sounded bitter but was still smiling.

"You never gave up on me."

"That's because I don't want to lose you again."

She sat down and looked at him, her eyes stinging with love - or was it sympathy?

"No Phil?"

"He's at work today," she replied. "He works in car sales."

"Most car dealers are crooks."

"Oh come on Tommy," she frowned. "I've been travelling for two hours to get here each day so give me a little credit."

He didn't say anything else, practically ignoring her.

"I'm sorry things had been hard for you. I wished I had supported you from the beginning. I didn't know what I was thinking," her voice cracked.

He knew exactly what she was thinking. She always wanted a perfect son. She, and sometimes his dad always pressured him to get Straight A's, to be polite, be sensible. Before joining jump street, he had no idea what it was like to go out partying and do all those other crazy things.

It made him wonder if he knew who he really was.

"Try and find it in your heart to forgive me."

"I've done so much for you. I took care of you when you got sick. I almost didn't graduate because I missed so much school," he said. "I didn't even have time to grieve."

She listened, her eyes and expression full of guilt.

"I'm sorry to have brought it up. I just had to say it. I've been too afraid to say a lot of things."

She nodded.

"And yes, I forgive you," he declared. "Losing dad wasn't fair. But that's life, isn't it?"

She reached out and placed her hand upon his. She smiled. He smiled back. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The simple touch said it all.

Love and forgiveness.

"Doug? Can I show you something?"

The seriousness of his caused him to crease his face with worry.

He pushed his diary towards him.

Doug took it, now looking confused. "What's this?"

"I want you to read it."

Doug started on the first page. Then the next. Then the next. Sometimes he looked shocked. Sometimes he looked as though he could cry.

It felt like forever until Doug put the book down.

He looked ashen and loss for words.

"Being here helped me make sense of a lot of things," he said. "How I covered up things that hurt me the most."

"Whose 'them'?"

He took in a breath. "The inmates. They all hated me because they knew I was a cop. They did everything they could to to break me, calling me all sorts and beating me up."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea... whenever I visited you there you seemed... I don't know...strong."

He looked down, shaking his head. "I'm not. Not really." He teared up. He didn't want Doug to see so he kept his head down.

But Doug wasn't stupid...

"What is it?"

"That's not all. They... the inmates touched me."

Doug froze. "What? They did what?"

"They touched me Doug, as part of their sick game. They knew it terrified me and sickened me than anything else."

Still bent over, he wiped the tears then covered his face with the back of his hand.

"Oh god. They didn't rape you did they?"

He shook his head. "No..."

At least he didn't think they did... he only remembered waking up after they knocked him unconscious. He was sore...bleeding...and confused

"If they did Tom, you gotta tell me. I'm not going to let these bastards get away with it," Doug said angrily.

"They mostly fooled around."

He remembered waking. He could hear the prison guard outside, shouting.

"I only left for a couple of minutes and you pulled this shit?"

A few of them laughed.

The guard walked in, his face crimson.

The guard never liked him very much. And nor did he. He complained to him once about the inmates giving him a hard time but he just said to: 'get in the real world. You're not a cop anymore. No ones going to cover for you. No ones going to care.'

But surprisingly he was kind enough to bring him a towel and comfort him.

"I'm sorry. This shouldn't of happened. It's just that we're short staffed at the moment. Can you get up?"

"Yeah..." he rose unsteadily to his feet, wincing as he did so. His whole body ached - especially his head. He touched it. There was a small cut and blood had run down on one side of his face.

"I'll have someone check you over at the infirmity."

He thought hard.

He remembered being patched up then was let back in with the animals. All he wanted to do was curl into a ball and no longer exist but they jeered, feeling him up again. He just shook cried and threw up, wishing they could just kill him then it'll be over.

"Can I get you a drink?"

He blinked in surprise. He had lost track of time again because of those flashbacks.

"Maybe some water?"

He certainly needed some. He felt nauseous.

Doug returned. "Are you going to tell fuller about this?" He asked, handing over the water

"What's the point? They're already in prison. And I can't very well report over thirty guys for sexual harassment."

"Was it that many?" Doug uttered in shock.

He nodded, looking away.

"Why don't you speak out for the victims?"

He made a face.

"So that's it, you're scared?"

No," he snapped. "I just don't want to make this thing bigger than it is."


	9. Chapter 9

He came down to breakfast to see everyone in a small crowd. He stepped closer and saw they were all fussing over Sandra. She was all dressed up, wearing a dark blue dress hidden underneath a long coat. She was also carrying a luggage case.

"You're leaving?" he asked, not meaning to sound sad and disappointed.

"Yeah. Dr Moore thinks I'm ready. I'll always have bipolar... but I've learned to manage it better."

"That's great. I'm happy for you," he said. "But it's gonna be really quiet without you."

"I know right!" she laughed. "And it's gonna be hard not seeing your cute face every day." She winked.

He shook his head amused.

She turned her attention on the two girls. Said something - they laughed together - then she hugged them both.

As he watched her turn her heel and exit, jealousy formed. He stepped to the window where the other two girls stood watching. She was getting picked up in an old looking pick up truck by a man he presumed to be her father. She looked so happy, she didn't even pass one last look at the building.

After the truck left, he looked at the girls. "You guys gonna be ok?"

"Sure," said Liz whilst Rebecca nodded.

They looked sad but did they feel at least bit jealous as he did? It was hard to tell.

After breakfast, he popped to see Moore to belt out his frustrations.

"Why was Sandra allowed home and not me?"

"Your situation was more complex."

"Meaning?"

"You've been dealing with a lot more than Sandra," said Moore. "And you've attempted to kill yourself."

"I was an accident!"

He ignored him. "I'm sorry. You're just not ready yet."

"I've been doing everything you asked!"

"And we still got a lot to work on." Moore said. He leaned back in his chair, looking exhausted all of the sudden. "I wasn't planning to tell you this, but we need to slowly reduce the dosage of anti psychotics." He scrutinised his reaction. "How do you feel about that?"

Dread filled his insides.

"They'll come back..."

"There's no 'they' Tom, we talked about this. Remember the CBT method? What's in your head is your own negative thoughts and feelings."

He sank. Maybe he was right. He wasn't ready.

"Can you at least tell me how long I'm going to be here?"

"I'm a psychiatrist not a psychic."

He left the office, fuming. _How dare he talk to me that way..._

Harry visited him that day Sandra left. He was just like how he remembered him four years ago; brighter, happier..brand new.

"Harry you look great!" he blurted out, almost forgetting it had been awkward between them.

"Thanks." Harry smiled. He studied him up and down. He didn't know what he was thinking but his brown eyes sure shown sadness. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm getting there..."

Harry licked his lips before speaking. "Listen, I want to apologise."

"What for?!" he uttered, bewildered. He was the one who screwed up; sneaking in his drawer and stealing his pills!

"I was bitter and jealous of you..." Harry began.

He blinked in surprise. _Jealous of me? I could understand if he was feeling bitter - he wasn't well. But jealous? What had I done that was so great? Didn't he see my life had been crippled and shambled because of my false charge? Didn't he see my struggle to pick up the pieces? _

"I thought you were doing much better than I was - even though we went through traumatic experiences at the same time. While you were in prison, I was in a coma fighting inside of my own prison." He paused then continued to explain. "When I was in a coma, I heard voices too. Some I did think were real, and some not."

His next words touched him the most.

"I guess we have a lot more in common than we think."

.

The voices spoke more now that he was on a low dose. He felt like he was back to square one ever remaining the victim.

_Hey pretty boy, give us a suck? _

"Leave me alone," he remembered saying tirelessly. He was sickened. He didn't dare look at him. He was only passing by when he was stopped by one of the inmates. He was just sitting there in his cell, exposed.

His response infuriated the inmate so much, he got physical, grabbing him and forcing him to do what he wanted.

He tried to fight against him but he was much stronger and bigger than he was. He kept saying no, over and over. Louder and louder.

He could see staff holding him down, trying to inject him but he couldn't stop fighting. He couldn't stop saying no...

He next awoke, groggy and confused. His first noticed his arm hurt, where he had been injected.

He felt violated. And it was the strongest feeling...

Something happened. I know something happened...

_He touched me. I know someone touched me. _

He trembled in horror.

_I have to ask Dr Moore. He'll know what happened. _

He skipped breakfast, seeing Moore instead.

"Something happened," he blurted out, breaking heavily. "I think someone touched me."

Moore looked so worried, he moved out from his desk just to help him sit down.

He looked down at his hands. They were still trembling.

"Who touched you Tom?" he asked, kneeling own beside him.

"I don't know. I just woke up this morning feeling like someone did."

"You had to be sedated last night because you were screaming, Tom," Moore said gently. "I can assure you things like that doesn't happen. We have room checks and everyone was in bed last night."

"It had to be one of the staff..."

"Our staff had been trained and were employed with the highest level of trust. They would never hurt you"

"How do you know? This place is what, barely two years old? How long had the workers been here, less?"

"You're acting paranoid, Thomas..."

"Maybe but they got away with it in prison, why not here?"

"Have a long think about this. You don't want to go accusing innocent people. In my opinion, you woke up feeling violated because you had a bad dream. You had to be sedated because you kept yelling 'no' and 'don't touch me.'

He leaned over, covering his face with his hand, feeling embarrassed, knowing Moore was right and he was wrong.

"It's been getting worse for me since you've lowered the dose."

"It's progress," said Moore. "You have to face what happened and learn to live with it."

"How? The voices keep talking."

"You've got to conquer each thought with positivity and eventually, you'll become the dominant one."

He stopped to think. "Are you saying the'll never be gone?"

Moore sank a little. "It's hard to say..." he said "It's different for everybody."

He struggled to accept the level of doubt he had. When Doug came to visit later, he didn't care for his defences that said, 'I'm okay'. He just let it fall.

"I'm never going to get better," he said tearfully

"Don't say that.." said Doug, sitting beside him.

His friend tried to comfort him, bringing an arm round his shoulder but the voices reacted, making that innocent move into a bad one.

_I thinks your easy now! He knows you loved it when we touched you!_

He shook his arm off.

Doug looked surprised and a little hurt.

The last time he had a real hug from him, was when he was released from Folsom. The voices was silent then. When enveloped in a hug, he felt emotions go haywire. He missed Doug a lot in those six months because during that time, they were separated by a large pane of glass and conversed by a connecting phone. He didn't pull away until he was sure his emotions dried up in his eyes.

He felt regret. He did want to be comforted - there was no doubt about it. If only he could understand...

He looked at him questionably.

"I can't wait for you to get out of here, Tom. I missed you so much when you were in prison. There may not be a pane of glass now but it still hurts all the same."

"I do want to get out."

"Then you've got to do better for Christ's sake!"

He was about to argue back, that he was trying - but was he really?

He was letting the voices control him. Again and again.

Later in the day, he opened up to Dave about the voices controlling him.

"Mine told me to hit my mom so I did it. She had to call the police on me... that's why I'm here."

"Oh..." he responded, shocked.

He could never hurt someone just because they voices told him to. Not even to his own mom. They still had hurdles to overcome but she still never gave up visiting.

She knew he hated hearing about Phil so she refrained from talking about him.

For now.

He wondered, would he be not fucked up as he was if he hadn't of lost his father when he was sixteen?

He went in Bud Towers house without a warrant not only because he wanted Bud behind bars fast as possible, but to prove he could be ruthless and brilliant - just like his father was - but in his own right.

But instead, he fucked it all up. Even though he was found innocent, he still made a stupid mistake. And now people thought he'll always be a B cop.

He made plenty of mistakes when he first started out. When he was in patrol, they used to mock and laugh at him. It'll be like:

_Broke your partners nose by accident again?_

_What have you done this time?_

_Best you go back home and play with your toy gun. This place is for real men._

In the end, he practically got fired and sent to jump street. It had its up and downs but he learned a lot.

If he was to return to the field, he knew he had to do things differently. He had to think things through and really take care of himself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Last chapter! I know the whole story seemed rushed but I was pretty lucky to get any words out of me because I'm always working**

"Do you just want to get out of here, take a walk?" his mother asked.

They left the visiting room and entered the garden. He didn't go there much, only to have a smoke with Dave.

The space was small, and enclosed in high fences. But it was a real garden compared to Folsom. There were different kind of flowers which were maintained and cared for. There were ornaments of fairies, gnomes and Disney characters too.

They sat on a bench by a running fountain.

His mom scanned the garden, smiling. "Well this is nice. Much better than being in there."

He shrugged. "I guess." .

She turned to face him, looking serious all of the sudden.

"Listen, I need to tell you something about your father."

His eyes widened in surprise. She rarely talked about him. And whenever she did, she would get upset.

"He had his own struggles too..." she began. "When you was about fourteen, he was diagnosed with PSTD...

His jaw almost dropped. _Post traumatic stress disorder?_ He had no idea about this. There were no signs at all. He was just a normal, loving and happy father to him.

"...He began to struggle with it after years of being a cop. He told me he seen a lot of ugly things and was most affected by a death of a woman and child in a case gone wrong. He believed it was his fault for not doing more to protect them."

"What happened to them?"

She sniffed. "The woman's husband was abusive. She called out the police many times on him. The police and your dad did what they could however. Your father was there in the moment when he shot her and her child."

He closed his eyes, taken aback.

"I had no idea..." he said, opening his eyes, emotions gathered. "He seemed so strong, so happy. I've always envied that."

She shook her head sadly.

"He was good at hiding things."

_Like me_, he thought._ I must have learned from the best._

"He never wanted to disappoint you because you admired him so much. And in the heat of it all, he still loved his job and had nowhere else to go."

"Me neither," he stuttered. "I don't know what else to do."

"I suggest you stay in the field," she said, smiling. "You've worked so hard for it. I know it may be hard, but it's one of the most rewarding, important jobs you can ever have."

He felt the bond between his mother grow tougher after the talk. And learning about his father really helped. It made him realise he was just as strong as his father. They both knew it was hard out there but had something in them to keep going...

He just needn't be afraid.

"Mom...?"

"Yes honey?"

"I need to tell you the main reason I got so messed up," he began. "It's because the inmates gave me a hard time. They hurt me physically and emotionally for the whole time I was locked in there."

He dissolved into tears.

"They touched me and made me do stuff, leaving me feeling dirty and used."

His mother slapped her hand over her mouth, shocked and upset.

"But they didn't go 'that' far probably because they knew they couldn't get away with it." He reassured her.

His mom looked relived but it didn't mean she still wasn't upset. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

"This whole thing shouldn't of happened. I should've just got a slap on the wrist for going into that cops house without a warrant - not have Buds partner frame me for murder and basically ruin my life."

"I know sweetie," she comforted him.

She enveloped him into a hug. Light tears slid down his face as he clutched onto her soft cardigan, feeling like a kid again, too afraid to let go.

After a long session with Dr Moore, he put down his glasses and straightened up.

"Do you feel ready to leave?"

He looked at him blankly.

"It's been five months since you've came here..."

Really, that long? He thought in surprise. He used to cross the days down but after a while, he stopped caring.

"...You've really shown through these past few weeks," Moore continued. "And I'm feeling confident that you're ready to go back out there. That is, if you're ready."

He brightened up like he'd seen sparks. "Really?"

Moore nodded, smiled.

"I am ready. I'm so ready," he rambled, excitedly. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done."

He only had a couple of hours left and he was allowed to leave by morning...

He said goodbye to everyone which he found hard because he was fond of them all.

He even hugged Dr Moore.

"You're one of those patients I'll never forget," he last told him.

He stepped out of the building, carrying his luggage.

The surroundings were less greener now that it was autumn. Old broken up leaves littered the ground and the sky above had a dark blue hue.

He only been held for three months but felt like six.

In front of him, was Doug, hanging by his truck. He expected him as he was the one to offer to drive him home.

But he wasn't alone...

There was his mom.

Judy.

Harry.

And Fuller.

He couldn't describe the joy he felt. _They all come for me?_

They looked like one big family, huddled together.

He hugged each one, with Fuller being the last.

"So what's your plan?" Fuller asked.

"Um." He swallowed hard. He didn't know how he was going to tell him and to everybody who was listening. He didn't plan to tell them so soon. He opened his mouth. "I think I'm going to work in another undercover unit which doesn't involve going around high schools," he confessed. "I'm doing it because I need a fresh start and I feel I've grown up now.."

Fuller nodded. "Yes you have... I support your decision," he said, placing his hand on his shoulder. "But I will miss you."

Doug didn't say a word about his confession until later - when they parted from the others to make way to the truck.

Doug stopped by the truck, facing him.

"I want to come with you," Doug blurted out.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to leave a job you love because of me."

"But you're the reason I love working at Jump Street. You are not just my work partner but my best friend. I'm sure I wouldn't of lasted this long without you."

"Me neither..."

He disliked the unit at first. He thought it was one big joke. He didn't plan to stay there long until he got to know Doug. He reminded him that it was okay to have fun, to be silly once in a while. He missed out on it while growing up because his parents being strict. He had to study hard and was not allowed to hang out with friends. His father told him once, he was afraid he could be badly influenced by his peers.

The only friend he had then, was Russell Buckins whom he met since elementary. He was a big goof, just like Doug was - Except he was a self-centred jerk. Their friendship had collapsed two years ago after he spilled dirty secrets about the unit and everyone in it.

Doug once asked him how the hell he become friends with that creep.

He remembered replying, 'beats me'.

He thought revealing the real reason would sound pathetic which was, 'oh, he was the only person who even cared to know me back then.'

"Let's do it," he said finally.

Before he let Doug have time to respond, he moved forward and gave him a proper hug. Tears matted his eyelashes - but he didn't care. _What was the point of hiding anything? It only chokes me. _

Epoligue.

The new undercover unit accepted both Tom and Doug because they were impressed with their four year record of undercover work and their great companionship. They knew it was going to be more tough, and more gritty... but they had each other. That was what mattered.

Tom wrote a letter to as a senator to advocate for those in prison who were being sexually abused. He began the letter with, trust must be placed in the system... He told them to think about giving more support for victims in there as they had as much right as everybody else. He suggested they should have easier ways to report abuse and every allegation should be investigated.

He hadn't heard anything back...

But he tried not to take it to heart. New laws and positive changes were being introduced all the time.

It was just a matter of time.

Harry decided to stay at Jump Street because he had a good friendship with Judy. There were new officers there now but they still continued to pair up like they've always done.

The voices of course, popped up now and again but it didn't affect him as much as it once did because his voice was stronger than they'll ever be.

The end.


End file.
